


ain't got nothing but love, babe

by hissingmiseries



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, One Shot Collection, Robron Week 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-27 07:31:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9982919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hissingmiseries/pseuds/hissingmiseries
Summary: A week in the life of Aaron and Robert. Kind of.#5 - Pillow Talk (or, based on the headline'Police called to 'domestic disturbance' find couple struggling with IKEA furniture'. )





	1. family (or, the mill sofa)

**Author's Note:**

> title from _eight days a week_ by the beatles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because i'm a Slut for my fam, the dingles :)))) everybody is ooc and nothing hurts.

-

 

"We should start charging people," Robert says, half-joking. Somebody's jumper is slung across the back of the sofa and it's not theirs; too bright, too tight across the shoulders. 

Aaron's sat at the dining table. "Shut up."

"I'm serious," he continues. "We even throw in a free breakfast."

The door opens, Liv pokes her head through. She's just come out of the shower and her hair's all damp and slick. "Ya could give the B'n'B a run for its money."

"Right, cause Pollard will love ya for that," Aaron grumbles, brushing toast crumbs from his hands.

Robert smirks. "Don't give a damn about Eric Pollard," he announces. The jumper dangles from his fist, destined for the wash basket. "Our sofa's comfier than all his beds. That should tell him a thing or two."

 

-

 

**i.**

 

It starts with a shepherd's pie. Like all good things in life, really.

They're all sat around the dining table, him and Aaron and Liv, tucking into dinner. It's a little dark around the edges, due to Robert's inexpertise with their new oven and he's burnt his hand twice but it's still better than anything Aaron could rustle up.

But it's Aaron that spots it first.

"This is - weirdly nice," he says, chewing carefully.

Not the best compliment Robert's ever had, but he'll take it.

"Weirdly?"

He pulls a face and takes another bite. "Just saying, it's better than usual."

Robert squints. "What I usually make isn't _bad_."

Liv makes a noise of indifference; Aaron snickers, covering his mouth with a hand. His fork sticks out from his fingers at an angle.

"This is Lisa's, innit?" 

He pauses, mid-mouthful. "You can tell that?"

Aaron gives him a look. "I've been eating it since I were a kid, of course I can."

It really is nothing special: a bit of meat, topped with sweet potato and a few herbs thrown in. But Lisa Dingle made it, and it's one of those phenomena of life: anything Lisa Dingle makes trumps whatever the best restaurants serve, and you'd be mad not to go back for seconds. Which is exactly what Liv does, leaning forward to scoop more onto her plate.

"She brought it round this morning," Robert explains. She'd turned up at their door, wrapped up against the morning chill with a tupperware container firmly in her arms, opaque with steam. "She thinks I'm not feeding you enough."

"Has been a bit sparse lately," Liv chips in.

Robert glares at her. "The oven's right there if you need it." She sits back, rolls her eyes. "Besides, it's not my fault we never have anything in. You two eat it all."

Cutlery clinks together as Aaron scrapes up what's left of his dinner. "Can't starve a growing girl."

" _You_ don't exactly look like you've been missing meals."

Liv's "ya calling him fat?" doesn't really register with either of them when they smirk at each other across the table.

 

The door buzzer goes. It's loud and insistent and it makes them all jump.

Liv is up like a rocket to answer it; she presses the phone to her ear and says hello then stills a little, visibly confused.

"Oh," she says, brow furrowed. "Hey, Noah."

 

Noah looks very young and very tired. His hair's a mess and the skin around his eyes has ballooned, flushed red. The right side of his face looks unhealthy.

"S-sorry," he manages to say, stood in the doorframe. His coat hangs off his shoulders, dampened by the wind. "Jake was busy and I didn't know where else to go."

Liv crumples a little; she hasn't really seen him since they moved out of the Woolie, that day when he cornered her outside her room and hugged her so tight he nearly burst her lungs but she didn't mind. It's Noah, little loud obnoxious Noah. And he'd been left all alone with Charity, who was much bigger and just as obnoxious but in a scary sort of way.

She steps forward and he just kind of melts into her arms. She'd kiss his hair if Aaron wasn't looking.

"Ya alright, Noah?" Her brother asks; he's clearing plates away, passing them to Robert who loads them into the dishwasher. He has, much like Liv, clocked on to the angry redness of Noah's cheek. His voice slows a little. "Is - everything alright at home?"

Noah sniffs, drags a hand across his eyes and nods, transparent as glass.

"Do ya want us to fix ya up sommat?" Aaron continues, gesturing to the fridge.

Noah pauses, like he's considering it. "Nah, I'm - I'm good, ta."

Aaron's eyebrows shoot up, in such a dad fashion it nearly makes Liv laugh. "Ah, come on," he says. "It's Lisa's shepherd's pie. You're not a Dingle if ya don't eat it."

That seems to do the trick.

 

Noah doesn't just eat his food, he inhales it. He shovels it in like he hasn't eaten for weeks.

They're in the lounge, with Noah in the dining room. The door is pushed to, just enough to muffle their words.

"Scrawny little thing, isn't he?" Robert says, voice low.

Aaron nods. "He looks about ready to eat the plate."

Something passes between them, a weird, identical concern. Liv swallows uneasily.

"Ya think sommat's up with him?" she whispers. Noah is barely visible through the slot in the door, a portion of his red jumper showing through.

Robert does something that sounds like a scoff. "Did you see his face? I bet Charity's clouted him."

Everybody tenses up, Liv especially. Her bones knot together; it's weird to imagine. Noah's a little shit sometimes, yeah, but he doesn't deserve _that_.

"Nah," Aaron says, shaking his head. "I can't imagine Charity doing that."

Liv frowns. "You're kidding? Course she would. She's an 'eadcase."

"She would, Aaron," Robert nods, folding his arms across his chest. "She's not exactly mum of the year, is she?"

He shuffles uncomfortably in his seat, wriggles his shoulders like he's shaking something from them. "I know," he says. "I just thought she'd be above hitting her kids."

Robert's jaw tightens when he looks back through the door. "Well she's not above starving 'em, clearly."

They all shut up when Noah's figure moves and approaches, blotting out the light as Antiques Roadshow suddenly becomes interesting. He pokes his head round the door, more hair than face. The hoodie which once fit him now looks a bit too big.

"Thanks," he says, lips reddened with sauce. "I think I'm gonna be off now."

The adults of the room nod, but Liv springs into action. "Ya don't have to," she says, standing up. "Ya can stay here for a bit longer. If ya want." Her eyes fly to her brother, then to Rob; a silent ask for encouragement.

Aaron caves first. "Yeah, I mean - not much to do, but 'm sure Liv could bore ya with the Xbox."

Noah twitches, a smile threatening to reappear.

"Have ya ever seen Aaron play FIFA?" she prompts; behind her, her brother huffs. "Shocking."

 

They sit, cross-legged in front of the couch, playing video games until their hands ache. The boys weave behind them now and again, running their own errands but checking in to see who's winning. Noah's grinning so wide he looks like he might burst.

Liv looks over at him; careful little glances, so he doesn't notice.

The volume mysteriously goes up just in time for her to say: "Ya can stay here overnight. I know Charity can be a bit of an 'andful."

Noah doesn't say anything, just nods and looks back with wide, doe-like eyes. Then he presses a button and his footballer lands a goal. God, technology's amazing.

 

"Why is there a thirteen-year-old kid on our couch?"

Robert's got his nose poked into Liv's room. He has to duck to avoid the doorframe.

"I told him he could stay," she says, bluntly.

"Oh, did you, now?"

She looks up from the laptop screen with an expression so inherently Aaron it throws Robert sideways. "Go on, then, tell him to go home."

Robert quirks an eyebrow and sighs. He's not _completely_ heartless.

"Right, well I'm taking you to school in the morning," he says before he goes. "Make sure he's up and ready too."

The corner of her mouth turns up in a smile and Liv nods, full of gratitude. "I will. Cheers, Robert."

 

Noah stays the night on the sofa, bundled up in an old blanket that Liv inherited from the Dingles. He sleeps quietly and soundly and has a gentle, rhythmic snore.

 

-

 

**ii.**

 

He's at home, alone. It's late afternoon, setting sunlight streams in through the windows as Robert angles his laptop screen so he can actually see the damn thing.

Technically he's supposed to be relaxing. Aaron had left in the morning with his coat and his tools and said, _you move off that couch, I'll just put ya straight back on it_ and Robert, unable to keep still for more than a minute, had been up and working before the door had even closed. But this is work, and this is Aaron's business, and there is no way Robert is letting Aaron's business struggle when he could be doing something about it.

The buzzer sounds.

_Well done, Aaron,_ he thinks when he goes to answer.  _Forgotten your bloody keys again._

But then he picks up the phone and a quiet, shaken voice travels down the line.

"Belle?"

 

Belle Dingle is not somebody Robert's ever really made the effort with. He doesn't really know that much about her, other than she's Zak and Lisa's kid and sometimes she has breakdowns. But Aaron loves her, and she loves Aaron, and that makes her family in his book.

There's very clearly something up with her. She's flushed, eyes sore and red-rimmed, hair in disarray around her face. Her bottom lip looks almost entirely chewed through.

"Belle," he says quietly, carefully. 

She kind of looks past him, blinking furiously. "Is Aaron here?"

"Um - no, Belle, he's at work."

"Oh." She swallows, lets out a shuddery breath. "Where is he? At the scrapyard?"

"Yeah, if he's not on his lunch break." 

She turns to leave, but her shoulders are shaking a little and Robert can't help but notice. "Wait, Belle," he says before he can really think about it. "Why don't you come in, eh? Get a drink or something."

Belle pauses; she breathes out, through gritted teeth. There's a horrible look in her eyes, wide and frantic like a hunted animal, and she looks Robert up and down with the epitome of scepticism.

And then she nods. "Um. Yeah. Yeah, okay."

 

He boils the kettle, pours two cups of coffee and pales one with milk. He even pulls out the tube of Hobnobs that Aaron tried to hide from him - behind the bran flakes, since nobody eats them - and dishes them out.

Belle is perched on the edge of the couch, shivering a little like a baby bird; light and hollow-boned. The skin around her fingernails has seen better days.

"Here you go," he says, handing her a mug.

She takes it, silently, and blows across its surface. Maybe there's a smile, he can't tell.

Robert sits beside her, a healthy distance between them as to not smother her, and says, "So, what did you want Aaron for?"

"I, er. I always go to him when -" she swallows, looks at him cautiously, like she's not sure she can trust him. "Things get bad."

Robert nods; he's seen that before. Hell, he's _done_ that before. "Why, has something happened at home?"

"Erm," she pauses, shifting uncomfortably.

He blinks. "Sorry, if I'm - I don't want to pry."

Belle shudders, wrapping her hands firmly around the mug, willing the heat into her skin. "Nah, it's - it's okay."

It takes a bit of coaxing: a mixture of sugary coffee, chocolate biscuits and Robert's awful attempts at trying to make her smile. He cracks some jokes about the Dingles and something about Alfie the dog, nothing funny but it punctures the tension a little. Especially when he spots her bag, dangling from her shoulder, and has an idea.

"What are - what are you studying?" he asks, casually. He doesn't know much about Belle, but he knows she's a business head and that's at least something he can relate to.

She says, "Business marketing," between sips.

Robert's ears perk up. "Oh," he smiles. "I did that."

"Did ya?"

"Yeah," he nods. His diploma's somewhere up in the attic, buried amongst cardboard boxes. "Leeds uni. The lecturers were awful but at least I graduated on time."

To his surprise, Belle smiles. Her face looks full of intrigue. "Yeah, my lecturer's pretty bad. He has a lisp. Ya can't understand a thing he says."

"Where is it you go? Hotten?" A nod. "Liv's on about going there, after her exams. Is it good?"

Belle makes a noncommittal noise, gesturing with her hand and it makes Robert grin. 

"That bad?"

"No, it's not _bad_ ," she says. "I was in  a bit of a rush, with - y'know. I didn't really look it over too well. I mean, it's definitely not the place for business studies, it's worth going into Leeds for that."

Robert understands; he takes a long drink as she talks. "I don't think Liv's too fussed about business," he smirks. "But, I don't know. I think she doesn't want to go too far from home."

And Belle shrugs and stares into her mug and says, "She's a Dingle, in't she? We can't stay away for long."

 

By the time Aaron gets home, they've made their way through the entire packet of Hobnobs and exhausted the kettle. Belle doesn't look as disorientated as before; her hair's still a mess but she's stopped crying. In fact, the only tears which have escaped have been through laughter. It turns out Robert Sugden can be quite the comedian when needed.

(Especially with an arsenal of embarrassing Aaron stories.)

The key turns in the lock and in he bundles, with Liv by his side like a loyal puppy. They both freeze at the weird sight of Robert and Belle on the sofa.

"Belle?" Aaron frowns, eyes flicking between his husband and his - god knows what relation they are. "What are you doing here?"

She sighs, contently. "Nice to see ya too, Aaron."

Liv disappears into the bathroom, shrugs out of her school uniform.

"Belle's staying for tea," Robert says, sudden and on-the-spot. "I'm cooking. Obviously."

Belle looks up at him, quizzical, but Robert smiles back at her and she kind of melts a little. "Oh, can Aaron not be trusted?"

Liv's "No," rings out from the corridor before he can defend himself.

Aaron makes a face at his husband, feigning offence before retreating to the corridor and peeling off his coat; it's raining out, he's soaked through to both sides. From the living room, whatever conversation Robert and Belle were so enveloped in resumes, and when Aaron returns, Belle is laughing - full-on laughing - into the palm of her hand. He hasn't heard her laugh in months. It sounds like bells - appropriately.

 

Robert makes some odd, foreign rice dish with a lot of spices. They sit round the table and while Liv and Aaron are sceptical, prodding at things with their forks, Belle wolfs it all down and sends her compliments to the chef.

"That were lovely, Rob," she smiles, standing up and brushing herself down. "You'll have to give us the recipe."

Aaron swallows back a laugh. "Right, 'cause Zak's famous for his love of Spanish food."

"It's Portuguese."

"Same thing."

"It's not."

"They're next door to each other," Liv says. "Close enough."

Aaron grins at his little sister and she grins back; they're like clockwork, always in tune. 

Belle leaves after that; says goodbye to them all and disappears back home. It's fully dark outside now, the village lit by streetlamps, bathed in yellow light. The stars blink in the sky like eyes.

They're cleaning up when Aaron asks, "What were that all about?"

Robert shakes his hand, smiles and says, "Long story." Then he takes a deep breath, and starts from the beginning.

 

-

 

**iii.**

 

The meeting runs late; really fucking late. Like, late enough to cause an argument. Plus the fact that his phone died hasn't really helped, so he's probably been getting loads of frantic texts from Aaron asking where he has and he hasn't been able to answer them.

He bursts into the flat, remembering at the last minute to not slam the door, when he freezes. There's a mass on the sofa, sprawled out, snoring with the rhythmic grace of a farmyard animal.

Then he sees who it is, and he goes pale.

 

"Cain Dingle is asleep on our sofa."

Aaron blinks, rubs his eyes. "Wha'?"

" _Cain. Dingle_. Is on our sofa."

There's a few seconds of confusion, before it obviously dawns on him and he shrugs. "Yeah, he turned up earlier in a bit of a state. Some big bust up with Moira."

"Oh, right, and this is the first place he thought of?"

Aaron peers at him through the darkness. "Obviously." A pause. "He's family, Rob."

"Yeah, yeah, I get that," Robert huffs, slipping beneath the duvet. "I'm just, y'know. Worried I'll wake up in his car boot again."

Aaron honest to god _giggles_ ; like a child. "Nah, not anymore."

"Not _anymore_?"

"Nah," he says, and Robert feels an arm wrap around him, holding him close. "You're family, ain't ya? He doesn't do that to family."

Robert's eyebrows shoot up. "I dunno. He did it to you, didn't he?"

"Yeah, well," Aaron says, and Robert can hear his smile, broad and bright like the sun. "It were for good reason."

 

 


	2. you're the boss (or, feel my heart)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for not writing anything for the marriage prompt! i literally couldn't think of an idea lmao. anyways, this is a bridge between 21/10 and 24/10, when aaron's in hospital after ssw.

 

 

Aaron survives. They have to shock him three times to bring him back.

Robert is stood outside, looking in through the blinds. He is shaking. His head is bleeding again and his legs are numb and his heart is thudding in his chest,  _Aaron, Aaron, Aaron._ He can feel it in his fingertips, in his feet. Pulsating against his ring.

Chas is beside him, hazy at the edges. Her mascara is in spider legs down her cheeks and Liv is beside her, crying ever so softly.

The doctors swarm; around him, over him, peeling him apart. Aaron is just—lying there. 

_Don't ever do that to me again._

_I just want to be myself now, with you._

_I love you, please just go._

Aaron survives.

 

"Can I—" Robert says, before setting his jaw. "I want to see him."

The nurse's eyes flick between him, Chas, Liv and then back to him. She looks sympathetic. "Two at a time, yeah?"

Robert nods. Behind him, someone's hand—probably Chas—touches his shoulder. He thinks she can see him still shaking.

 

-

 

Aaron's going to be in hospital for a while, the nurse says; he needs to sleep and after however long that takes, they'll need to check him over. Robert's okay with that, kind of. His selfish heart relents at the knowledge that he'll have to sleep alone, wake up to a cold bed but contrary to what everyone seems to think, he is capable of being rational. This is Aaron; Aaron who he loves, Aaron who needs to get better.

 

He could be sleeping, that's how peaceful he looks. Remove all the tubes and wires and it could be a Sunday morning, with the sunlight streaming in through the curtains. It could have been like that; if Aaron hadn't, y'know, kidnapped someone and ruined it all. Not that he has. He hasn't ruined anything. He couldn't; it's not possible. 

Robert could; everything he touches seems to turn to shit, sometimes. Like King Midas' idiot brother. But not Aaron. He could drag Robert through hot coals and it would be okay.

The hospital smells of chemicals, of dying people. Robert sits close and runs his fingers through Aaron's hair. He feels horribly cold.

 

-

 

Chas walks in. She's cleaned herself up a bit, wiped away the tears. 

"Just spoke to the doctors," she says, in greeting. "They said it were sommat to do with his blood pressure. That's why he—" nobody wants to say it, so nobody does. It's too fresh, too reminding of how close it came.

"But he's alright now?" Robert asks.

She nods. "Should be. They're keeping an eye on him."

It's not enough but it's all they'll probably get right now.

She sits down, opposite Robert; her hands find Aaron's immediately and wrap around, hold on tight. Her mouth is in a straight line but her eyes are twitching, like she's trying to keep everything contained.

 

"I'm sick of seeing him in here," she says, suddenly.

Robert's eyes snap up. "That makes two of us."

"No, you weren't around before," she says. "It was constant. If he wasn't at home then he was here. It was always the first place we checked."

Robert blinks; he's heard stories about young Aaron, chavvy Aaron running around with short hair and a chip on his shoulder. Only stories, but Aaron is a vivid storyteller late at night and it used to hurt, Robert hearing all about it, about Aaron in the garage and Aaron in the cemetery yard and Aaron, with all of this anger and hurt balled up inside of him. It made him furious.

He doesn't know quite what to say. "That must've been scary."

Chas bites her lip. "He was a mess, back then. So was I." She takes a breath, shaky. "I'm his  _mum_."

Robert flinches; he's thrown enough venom at Chas about her parenting skills but hearing it from the horse's mouth has double the impact. "It's Aaron," he says, sounding small. "He doesn't talk to anyone."

"He shouldn't have _had_ to." Her teeth are clenched. "I should've seen it. I should have seen it _all_."

He understands, their heads are all tangled up. Aaron's has been for a long time: Gordon, Robert, Liv, this. 

"I should have seen it, too," Robert admits. "As soon as Gordon came back on the scene, he just—changed."

He looks up at Chas. She's watching him closely, peering as you would into a window, squinting to see what's in the shadows.

And then she leans forward and adopts that firm tone and says, "You _did_ see it. Okay? You saw it before any of us, and ya had no reason to, but ya did." She swallows. "God knows what would've happened if ya didn't."

Neither of them want to think about that, so Robert looks back at Aaron and breathes in. His boyfriend—fiancé now, _shit_ —is frowning a little, a small dip between his eyebrows like he's in the middle of a bad dream. That used to happen a lot, after Gordon when things were first unfurling and reconnecting: Aaron would wake up in the night, breathing too heavily and Robert would be up like a shot. He'd cry and cry and when he'd finally collect himself, he'd turn to Rob and bury himself in, hold Robert like he was an anchor, like he could go at any moment.

 

-

 

Liv reacts like how Liv Flaherty always does: with awful, bone-deep fear.

She wears the corridors thin with her wandering then eventually comes into the room. Her cheeks are red, blotchy like juice stains and the skin around her fingernails has seen better days. She takes one look at Aaron and starts to cry.

Robert's still in there, of course. Like you could make him leave. Some of the doctors have tried to suggest him something to eat, or a cup of water but to no avail. He might as well be stone.

 

"He's okay, right?" she asks, voice thick. She eyes her brother warily. "He's gonna be okay?"

Robert nods. "Of course he will."

Liv's chewing on her bottom lip; what she does when she's debating whether to speak her mind. Aaron does the same thing all the time. "He _died_ , Robert."

Fuck, he hates that word. It makes him feel horrible and empty all the way through. "He'll be fine."

"His heart stopped," she persists. "That's gotta hurt, right? It's gotta—damage him."

Robert shrugs a little. "It doesn't," he says. "Mine did when I got shot, and I'm still here, aren't I?"

That seems to do the trick; her shoulders fall and she nods, quickly. 

"It was just his blood pressure," he continues. "He's not hurting anymore. With how much morphine he's on, he's probably having the time of his life right now."

That coaxes—is that a smile? From Liv Flaherty? He must be a magician.

"And ya just got engaged," she adds, and there's light in her eyes, warmth. "That'll help."

He smiles too. "Yeah. It will."

 

-

 

Let's get things straight. Robert does not like Paddy, and Paddy _really_ does not like Robert.

But they both love Aaron, deeply and fiercely.

And that's enough.

 

He shows up and he looks awful, worse than Robert and Aaron combined; his arm's in a sling and there are cuts all over his forehead and he's dead behind the eyes. He walks into the room and stiffens like a board when he sees Rob there, tracing patterns up and down Aaron's arm, over his pulse. 

"Oh," he says. "Didn't think you'd be here."

Robert has to bite his tongue. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Paddy doesn't say anything. He has a thousand reasons to hate Robert but none to argue the way he looks at Aaron, the way Aaron looks back. 

The air goes stale—it's hard and chewable, and Paddy stands there awkwardly for too long, opening and closing his mouth like a fish before Robert finally gives in. He stands up and says,  _want me to go for a bit_ , and Paddy fucking nods. Shamelessly.

 

So he does. It's absolute hell, pacing outside the hospital room, playing with the bottom of his shirt. Liv's gone home to sleep, accompanied by Chas and Vic had to take Adam home because he was doing just fine until he wasn't, and he had some kind of crying fit in the men's toilets.

Paddy waffles on; his lips move wordlessly on the other side of the glass. Eventually he's done, and when he walks out, he pauses and asks Rob, "Who was driving?"

Robert blinks. "Aaron."

Something in Paddy's face darkens, like he's just lost a bet, before he walks away and down the corridor.

 

-

 

It's late. Everybody else has gone home and even the nurses are giving him dodgy views but Robert's still there. He's been in his seat so long he could start growing roots, but he'd be fine with that, really.

Aaron hasn't woken up all day. There's the occasional snuffle or incoherent mutter, a far-away word but nothing concrete. He's usually a restless sleeper but here, with god knows how many drugs running through his system he's finally sleeping peacefully and it's a sight to behold: no cold sweats, no groping violently in the night. He's stable and he's quiet and it's only slightly alarming.

Robert, on the other hand, is exhausted. A near-fatal car accident really takes it out of you.

 

Somehow he's ended up with a blanket—a gift from one of the nurses, he thinks—and the chair is some degree of comfortable so he curls up here, gets himself warm. His engagement ring is heavy on his finger and it feels nice to twist around. It grounds him, almost. They're here, in some dingy hospital room after nearly fucking dying, but Aaron said _yes_.

He woke up, and the first thing he said was _yes_.

It had been like angels singing, like music. Like the best thing Robert had ever heard.

And he sleeps too. Not as calmly, nowhere near. But there's Aaron's heart monitor in the background, beeping nice and rhythmically, and as long as that keeps going then Robert knows. He'll wake up tomorrow and the whole world will be at their feet and they can just;

Carry on.

 

 


	3. different worlds (or, you're my a+)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the muggle version of fiona's fic ;) totally au, short and sweet, disgustingly ooc (especially aaron lmao)

 

 

-

 

Robert Sugden flops down in the staffroom with a loud, long sigh. There's a pile of tests he needs to mark and his coffee's gone cold and one of his kids just brained another on the coat pegs outside and—

He's not having a good day, to put it mildly.

It's third period; Wednesdays are his favourite, as he only has to teach for two hours and then he can retreat to the staffroom, submerge himself in enough red ink to paint skies and ride out his insanity in peace. Usually there's fresh tea in the pot. It feels much too light when he picks it up.

He hates teaching.

No, that's a lie. He loves teaching, loves it with every fibre of his being. He wouldn't do it otherwise. But there are those days when he just kind of wants to throw himself into oncoming traffic; not a bus, or a truck but something light. A Smart car, maybe. Or Aaron's awful new Peugeot. Something which would put him out of service for a month or two and let him  _sleep._

Oh, and the biscuit barrel is empty. Typical.

With a sigh, he finds his desk; it's sandwiched between Mr. Barton's and Miss Kotecha's and, like the rest, is adorned with all sorts of knick-knacks. There's a photo of Aaron and Liv pinned to the wall, next to a picture of tired-looking Vic cradling little Lizzy in her arms which always makes the female staff coo. 

There's also the mug that Liv bought him from a seaside market, covered in a pattern of cartoon knobs.

(He had to fight the headteacher to let him keep that.)

 

His fifth set has just sat an exam; he has thirty papers to mark, all due for tomorrow.

Oh, well. There's no time like a present.

The pile of papers looks just as daunting as ever, and he downs an entire penis-mug of coffee before going in with his red pen. It doesn't look good; it's not his brightest class, admittedly, but god, he was sure he taught them better than this.

It's absorbing work, marking papers, and doesn't notice when somebody's shape takes up the doorframe.

"Knock knock."

Robert grins to himself. "I'm marking."

"Good for you. Room for a littlun?"

One of Robert Sugden's worst qualities: he is very easily distracted. Especially when his husband treks all the way across school to pay a visit.

Aaron is shiny and decked out in sports kit, glowing under the strip lighting like something ethereal—though the sweatband ruins the aesthetic a tad. His chest is heaving slightly, drinking in air and he's clearly absolutely gasping for a drink.

"What are you doing up here?" Robert asks, though he's smiling, broad and unstoppable; he always does when Aaron's around.

"Got a free lesson," Aaron says. He walks in and it instantly looks wrong. P.E. teachers don't belong in English staffrooms, it doesn't work. "Cuppa?"

Robert nods. "Please."

Soon the kettle's boiling again and Aaron grabs Mr Metcalfe's chair and pulls it up to the opposite side of Robert's desk, sits himself down. He looks knackered, running a hand through his hair and smiling through tired eyes. Robert feels his heart sigh—better Aaron than him teach physical education, yes, but he hates seeing Aaron like this—and leans down, places a kiss to the top of his husband's head. His hair feels damp on his lips.

He must look like shit, too, because Aaron looks up and asks, "Long day?"

"Ugh," Robert says. "The longest."

"I've just done eight laps of that bloody field," Aaron says, pointing out the window at the drag of green. " _That_ was long."

"Alright, smart arse." The kettle bubbles, billowing out steam; Robert fills up the knob-mug with an immature smile and fishes another one out of the sink.

Aaron takes a drink and sighs. His shoulders visibly unknot. "What ya marking?"

"Mock exams," Robert says, followed with, "Fifth set," and an accompanying grimace. 

"Going well, then?"

There's a sigh of defeat. "There's more fails than passes at the moment, which is—exactly what the school board wants right now." 

Aaron sucks his teeth, frowns as if thinking. "Tell 'em to look on the bright side of failure. There always is one."

Robert peers at him. "Eh?"

"Yeah," Aaron nods; there's that look on his face, unreadable, yet Robert's seen it so many times he knows exactly what it means. "Like—my grandad. He suffered failure."

"Liver failure."

"Exactly. Which meant that _I_ inherited a Volvo. See? Bright side."

He's smirking, this awful little thing that breaks free and unfurls across Robert's face. "Stop taking the piss." How very _Aaron_ : always able to make him laugh, even when he's staring at a pile of proof that _fuck_ , teaching is difficult.

"Well, lucky for you," Aaron begins, pulling his bag up onto his lap and unzipping it, before pulling a stack of papers from its jaws. "I'm in the same boat."

 _Ha_ , Robert thinks. _Checkmate_. "I didn't even know you did theory tests in P.E."

Aaron pulls a face. "They don't count for much if you're not taking it for a GCSE. It's just a nice old waste of mine and the kids' time."

That's another very Aaron thing: Robert's never heard him call the students by just that— _students_. It's always _kids,_ like they're his own. It's no secret amongst the school that Mr. Dingle is one of the coolest teachers alive and that he can make any pupil enjoy P.E. Robert thinks it's witchcraft, honestly. He's never seen Aaron teach but holy shit, if he can make eight laps of the school field enjoyable for a bunch of moody teenagers then he _must_ be magical.

 

Aaron's a much faster marker. Robert is very slow and methodical, constantly referring to the mark scheme to make sure he's not misconstruing any details. Aaron just flies down the paper so fast that the pen nearly tears through.

"Ah," he makes a satisfied noise when he's done, leans back in his chair. Robert glares at him enviously.

"I've barely made a dent in these."

The kettle goes again, dampening the room, and Aaron goes and fills the knob-mug and his own with fresh, thick coffee. "Want an 'and?"

Robert looks up from his hell, brow a little furrowed. "You sure?"

Aaron returns, places the knob-mug in front of Robert and reaches for the mark scheme. "Yeah. How hard can it be?"

There's a beat of silence where Robert has to stop himself bursting out laughing. "I mean—see for yourself."

 

They sit there for a while, enjoying the silence. Their legs constantly connect beneath the desk, Aaron kicking playfully every time he comes across something indecipherable in the tests, and Robert kicks back in amusement because hey, the fact that his husband's rocked up is really the only thing that could have made him happy in this hour. It's a long way from the gym to the English staffroom, too: a big network of corridors and the quad, Hotten Academy's very own no man's land, stand in between.

"I thought ya taught English," Aaron remarks, out of nowhere. He's frowning down at a paper that's more doodles than words.

Robert smirks. "I do."

" _That_ ," he points, "is not English."

"That is what _real_ teachers have to put up with."

Aaron looks up at him, face hard with bitten-back smiles. "I am a real teacher."

Robert laughs; his eyebrows shoot up. "What, kicking a football around for half an hour? That's what they'd do if you _weren't_ in the room."

Ah yes, this age-old chestnut. Or, the debate they'd been having ever since Robert's first day, when he'd been shown around the school by the headteacher and they'd walked into the gym and - fuck. His world had shifted. It _really_ shifted when a basketball came flying his way and almost took his head off; Aaron's fault, of course. For a P.E. teacher, he has really shit aim.

"It's a fun lesson," Aaron says, pointedly. He flips a paper over. "Ya know what that is? Fun? Seeing as ya teach _English_ for a living."

Robert shrugs. "Not my fault you're uncultured."

Aaron smiles with his eyes and says, "Don't care about being cultured. At least the kids actually like me."

"The students like me!"

There's a scoff, loud and unashamed. "Please," Aaron says. "The first thing they all do when they get into the gym is slag ya off.  _Oh, Mr Dingle, your 'usband threatened to get me excluded 'cause I coughed when he were talking_." 

He's laughing now. It fills the room and the other classrooms can probably hear it but neither of them care. Robert's too busy seething over his coffee.

"I've never threatened to get anyone excluded."

"I find that hard to believe."

 

It takes them an hour to finish marking everything; by the end, they've drunk the last of the coffee and Aaron's pen has leaked red ink everywhere, making him look like a serial killer and giving Robert chance to reel off lines of Macbeth at him.

"Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand," he smirks as he pushes Aaron's papers into his chest. "No, this my hand will the - no, will _rather_ the multitudinous seas incarnadine, making the green one red."

Aaron kisses him, quick but heartfelt, before saying, "Shut up. Shut the fuck up."

 

-

 

Robert threatens to exclude three students in his next lesson. He actually tries with one of them, but she's a smarmy little thing and the Head of Year takes pity on her. Git.

So, understandably, he's not in a good mood. Add on the fact that he loses his lesson plans for the next day and he's positively raging; so, when he slams the mug down on the counter with a little too much force, it's Miss Kotecha who stands up, places a hand on his shoulder and says, "Hey, hey. Go and see Aaron."

So he does.

 

He breaks up a fight on the way; just a small one, more entertaining than threatening but he is a teacher and it's his job to stop stuff like this. Really, they'd sprung apart as soon as they'd seen Robert approaching. He's that teacher that the students just know there's no point getting into bother with. 

Unlike Aaron. He's the teacher who'd take the students down the pub if it were legal.

The gym is empty. It stinks of sweat and teenage boys and there's some badminton nets left out, being folded away by Aaron who's stuck with trying to untangle one of them.

"Here," he says, approaching his husband. "Give it here. You're getting all wrapped up."

Aaron sighs, in defeat. "Cheers," he says, thrusts his hands into his pocket.

Robert's hands are light; he makes quick work of the net. "Who've you just had?"

"Year Eight."

They both wince. Year Eight, also known as the year where nothing of importance happens and therefore the kids run amok. Robert doesn't teach them much and he's grateful for it; he doesn't lose his temper often but hell, that year group is a decent test of patience.

The net gets thrown over its fence and Aaron wheels it into the storeroom. It's a big, boxy room, littered with stuff, smelling like carnage.

"Has someone died in here?" Robert frowns, scrunching his face up.

Aaron smirks, turns to face him. "Me hopes and dreams," he says. "And we found a rat once. It'd made its own bed in the beanbags."

His following laugh bounces off the walls as Robert goes pale. "Anyway," he continues. "What're ya doing down here? Got no kids to bollock?"

Robert rolls his eyes. "Done all that. That's why I'm here."

"Ah," Aaron nods, understandingly. His voice echoes and multiplies and his eyes are warm in the shade. "So - I'm your therapy, then?"

"Basically, yeah. And my husband," he smiles. "Added bonus."

There's a beat, one of shared, knowing grins, before one of them steps forward and soon, Robert can feel lathered hair between his fingers, feel gentle lips against his own. It's like all the stress runs out of him, in that moment. It's risky, kissing in an open storeroom - Robert still has bad dreams of the day he walked into his form room and someone pointed out all the stubble rash around his mouth - but neither of them care. It's just them, the only time in the school day they get to spend together. It couldn't be better.

 

"Uh uh," Robert says, pulling away. There's a hand around his zipper. "Not here."

Aaron casts him a puppy look through the darkness. "Aw, c'mon. Why not?"

"I mean - the reasons are literally endless," Robert says, mouth agape with attempts not to laugh. "And you really need a shower."

He feels a punch on his shoulder, followed by a stifled yelp. "No fun. See what I mean about ya being no fun?"

Robert quirks an eyebrow. "I'll show you _fun_ once you've had a shower."

"Not possible," Aaron quips; the lights above them go off. "You're an English teacher."

"And you're not even a real teacher, so -"

"Fuck off."

Robert grins, watching Aaron's figure move in his sports kit as he disappears around the corner. Honestly, it's amazing neither of them have been fired yet.


	4. domesticity (or, build me up)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> based off of [this incredible headline](http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/weird-news/police-called-domestic-disturbance-find-2788180). probably the silliest thing i've ever written lmao

 

 

The door buzzer to the Mill sounds at the worst possible time.

Aaron stands up; there's sweat all across his forehead and his shoulders feel like they're about to fall out their sockets. It's high summer, probably not the best time to engage in such rigorous activity but it needs doing. Robert was getting grouchy.

Speaking of Robert, he's on his knees in the middle of the living room. The interruption has him frowning.

"Tell them to come back later," he barks.

Aaron pulls a face and takes the phone off the hook. "Right, cause that won't sound dodgy."

Then he presses to phone to his ear and clears his throat. Somebody's voice sounds on the other end, and Aaron pales spectacularly and goes red at the same time.

It's amazing to watch.

"Um," he says, eyes darting to the door like a rabbit caught in headlights. Filled with worry, filled with surprise. "Come up."

There's a click. Aaron unlocks the door and runs a hand through his hair, ignoring the multiple confused questions from his husband. He forcibly relaxes himself and swallows. Everything about his demeanour says, _act normal._

 

The door opens and in walks fucking PC Swirling.

Everybody in the village knows PC Swirling, and PC Swirling knows everybody in the village. It's a deep, mutual dislike, and it shows on every crease in his face when he looks at whichever Dingle this one is (he forgets their names, there's enough of them) and then at whatever the fuck is all over the floor. His neon vest brightens the place up like a beacon.

Aaron talks first. His voice is more exasperated than anything. "Sommat we can do for ya, officer?"

PC Swirling clearly recognises him. Honestly, he looks more fed up than Aaron. There's a notebook in his hand; nothing written on it besides his grocery list, but he thinks it adds to the aesthetic. "We got reports of a domestic disturbance from this address," he says in his most professional, affirmative voice. He sounds like he'd rather be literally anywhere else.

Aaron splutters. "Eh?"

"Yep," PC Swirling continues. "Apparently, a lot of shouting and banging noises?"

"There— _eh_?"

"Possibly some crying?"

"No, trust me, there's been no crying," Aaron says and to punctuate his point there is, of course, a yelp from deeper in the house at that very moment.

PC Swirling raises an eyebrow. Aaron scrunches up his face in defeat, looks back over his shoulder. "What've ya done now?"

"Not me," a voice—Robert's voice—calls back, managing to inject into his tone a feeling of being mortally wounded. Aaron has seen Robert go through the rounds a bit: being shot, being in a car crash, being a moron and falling out of a tree. He never sounded anywhere near as hurt as he does now. "The fucking _hammer_."

Aaron rolls his eyes. "Wha—why are ya using a hammer?" he yells; his voice echoes through the rooms. "You're meant to be building the fucking thing, not tearing it down."

"Well, if you're the bloody expert, you come and do it!"

"I would if there weren't a police officer stood in me face—"

Robert slides into view then, on socked feet, like Bambi on ice across the flooring. He never learns. His lips are closed around his thumbnail and his hair's stood up on end and, yeah, none of them look any good. Neither would you if your heated argument over how to assemble an Ikea wardrobe had been interrupted by the fucking _law_.

"Oh," he says, clearly breathless. He thinks his eyes might be watering slightly. "Officer. Um, what's going on?"

PC Swirling has no words. He looks between them, mouth agape, not quite sure what is going on.

"Complaints about the noise," Aaron fills in, with a stern glare at his husband. "Someone thought I was murdering ya."

Robert blinks. "Oh. Right." Then he realises he should probably explain and carries on with, "Well, don't have a go at me. You're the one that threw the instructions out."

"It's flat-pack, Rob, ya shouldn't need 'em!"

"That's why it's still all over our floor, is it?"

Another figure emerges from the living room then; small and disgruntled, hair up in a bun and cheeks red with exertion. "You're both _awful_ ," she grumbles. "There's instructions for a reason."

Robert makes a pathetic noise, gesturing towards Liv in agreement. Aaron cowers a little at the glares from the two people he loves most in this world and looks back at PC Swirling, who looks like he's trying to fight off an aneurysm.

"You've had a wasted journey, mate," he says. "We're just—tryna put furniture together. No one's died. Yet."

Liv jumps in; give her chance to take the piss out of her guys and she'll grab it with both hands. "You blokes. You're all allergic to _common sense_." She looks at the police officers with all the wisdom and patronisation of a mother and says, "They're tryna put together a wardrobe, 'cause Robert's got, like, fifty million shirts—"

"Aaron's got shirts too."

"Yeah, a court shirt," Liv smirks. "That doesn't count. It's like Hawaii in your suitcase."

"It's not that many."

"They're all hideous, too."

"Ugh."

"You two finished?" Aaron frowns; any amount of time that he has to have the police in his presence makes him uncomfortable, but this is just ridiculous. Plus, PC Swirling looks like he's considering arresting them all just to shut them up.

Speaking of PC Swirling, he looks at Aaron blankly and deadpans, "You lot seriously made enough noise to make your neighbours think there was _actual danger_."

It sinks in a bit, then. The three of them exchange cautious glances before Aaron clears his throat and helpfully adds, "Robert's not that great at DIY, bless 'im."

Robert goes red. "You tossed out. The _instruction manual_."

"Ya shouldn't need it!"

"Right, and if I dumped you in the middle of nowhere and said you don't need a map, you'd be perfectly fine, would you?"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

Robert clenches his teeth and says, "Go and find wherever you put that manual. Unless you want all our clothes to sit in them boxes all week."

Liv coughs. "Best place for 'em."

It comes to a mild crescendo when PC Swirling snaps his notepad shut and lets out the longest, most tortured-sounding sigh a human body can produce; it shuts everybody up. Fucking Dingles. If it's not one thing, it's another. 

"Right," he says in a calm, collected tone. Robert's sure he can see blood vessels popping. "I need to know: there's no chance of anybody getting harmed if I leave?"

Aaron goes to speak and then stops himself. Liv rolls her eyes, and Robert just looks down at his swollen thumb and shrugs.

PC Swirling blinks. " _Actually_ harmed."

"I think we're alright," Aaron nods, thrusting his hands into his pockets. "Sorry for the waste of petrol, mate, we weren't expecting company."

"Yeah, tell me about it," PC Swirling says. His notepad disappears into his pocket and he turns to go, before pausing and saying, "At least it were a false alarm. 'm not used to turning up at a Dingle's place and it being something this—" he smirks, "— _rubbish_."

Liv laughs, looking at her feet. 

"Yeah," Aaron says, and maybe he's smiling a bit. "I don't blame ya."


End file.
